


When Everything Feels Like the Movies (You Bleed Just to Know You're Alive)

by TT_Angst_Queen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Depression, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: The First Avenger Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-05-27 00:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TT_Angst_Queen/pseuds/TT_Angst_Queen
Summary: When Bucky Barnes falls from the train, he doesn't land at the bottom.He lands in the future.In Tony Starks bed.Lucky him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Are you 18+ and Want to join in a group dedicated to Bucky Appreciation? Join my Server on Discord, here: 
> 
> https://discord.gg/h2zTtzT
> 
> Hope to see you soon!

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky was terrified, hanging on to that rail, dangling about a God-knows how deep ravine. His hands were freezing cold on the steel railing, and the skin of his palm still felt slippery with sweat as he desperately tried to keep hold of the metal, his eyes stinging as the wind whipped by his face, the crisp smell of pine and ice making his nostrils burn. Buck didn’t want to be here, hell, he never wanted to go to war in the first place, but damn if he was gonna let his no-so-little-anymore best friend fight Nazi’s without him to watch his back. 

 

“Bucky, grab my hand!”

 

He was going to die for his decision. 

 

Even though he knew it was hopeless, he still released one hand off the fragile railing and reached for his pals hand, but the sudden creak and crack of the railing made his eyes widen and a yelp falls from his lips. He got one last glimpse of Steve’s wide, terrified eyes- “Bucky, No!”- before he was falling, screams ripping from his throat.

 

The first few seconds of falling were terrifying, and the ever growing closer ground made him close his eyes and wait for death to embrace it, hoping for a quick, merciful death. 

 

One moment, he was falling, the wind howling in his ears and the faint sound of Steve’s screams and the train in the background, the next, there was silence, and- warmth? 

 

The sudden feeling of falling gently on a soft surface made him open one eye, then both. He blinked.

 

_ What the hell-? _

 

He was laying on a too-good-to-be-true soft bed, still in his uniform, the feeling of the cold, Alpine weather still set in his bones. The air was warm, the sun was shining through large, bay windows, and he could hear a distant hum, that reminded him of the light bulb Steve and he had only used sparingly before the war. 

 

“What the fuck-?” Bucky whispered, stunned; Why wasn’t he a bloody smear at the bottom of that ravine? He should be dead right now. 

 

Was this the afterlife?

 

“You know, Usually I’m drunk when I wake up to some stranger in my bed, Sweetcheeks.”

The sudden deep voice made him swear in shock and turn, reaching for his hip, grabbing the hilt of his knife.

 

He turned to the voice then froze, eyes narrowing.

 

“Howard?”

 

The man who looked like an older Howard Stark scowled at him, then crossed his arms over his chest, covering a strange blue glow he absently noticed.

 

“Yeah, nope, nice try, buddy,” The man scoffed. 

 

“You appear out of nowhere in my bed like you came out of a WW2 film looking like Bucky Barnes, and pretending to be him-” the man paused, “Why would you do that, anyway?” 

 

Bucky frowned, confused and angry. What the hell was this clown on about- WW2 film? Pretending to be himself?

 

“Listen, pal,” Bucky growled, taking his knife out of his belt, and pointing it at the man, whose eyes widened at the weapon, raising his hands. “I ain’t sure what th’ fuck you’re talkin’ bout’, and I got no clue why the hell I’m here in your damn bed,” soft as it was, “all I wanna  know is how th’ hell I got here, who the hell are you, and where th’ hell is Steve, you gettin’ me?”

 

Bucky was even more confused when the man snorted, looking at his knife, then him, and shook his head. 

 

“Wow, you’re going full hog on this, aren’t you? That knife even looks like the genuine article my father made for the Commandos in the War, and you look a  _ hell  _ of a lot like Barnes- did you steal the uniform from the Smithsonian? Or did you make it yourself? Cuz if you did, you have mad skills with a needle-”

 

“Look, you lugnut-” Bucky growled, leaning forward, almost tangling himself in the absurdly silky and expensive looking sheets.

 

“No,  _ you  _ look,” The man growled, waving a hand, completely unconcerned for the knife in Bucky’s hand, 

“I don’t know who you are, or what tech you used to appear in here, but I was having a really nice dream that was interrupted by your surprisingly nice ass dropping itself in my bed-” Bucky raised his eyebrows; was this guy queer? And he just casually mentioned it to a stranger? Did he have a death wish? “And I finally was getting some nice, restful sleep after weeks of nightmares, Pepper would be proud, and here you are pretending to be Barnes-”

“Barnes, James Buchanan, 32557038. Blood type A, formally 107th, then the Howling commandos, Born March 10th 1917, at 2:02 in the morning to George and Winifred Barnes, Sisters Rebecca and Lily Barnes. I love chocolate ice cream, but only from Mario’s down the street from mine and Stevie’s apartment, and I am allergic to shellfish.”

 

The man, who had frozen halfway through Bucky’s rant, gaped. Then narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips. 

 

“Jarvis?”

 

A sudden voice from nowhere made Bucky tense and grip his knife harder. 

 

“The information he gave you was correct, Sir. and only information that was not publicly known by anybody but your father, or-”

 

“People who knew Barnes,” the man finished, his eyes wide, looking at Bucky with shock. “ _ Barnes _ ?” The other brunette asked, and Bucky rolled his eyes. 

 

“Yeah, pal,” Bucky sighed, exasperated, not letting go of his knife, “s’ what I’ve been trying ta’ tell ya’,” then he glared, “Now who th’ hell’r you, an’ where th’ hell’m I? And what the hell was that voice?”

“Uh, I’m Tony Stark, and you’re in Malibu, California, um. And It’s 2010. And that was Jarvis, my uh, AI”

 

Bucky’s eyebrows shot to his hairline and he scoffed. 

 

“Yeah, sure, an’ I’m the fuckin’ tooth fairy.”

 

What kind fool did this guy think he was; the future? Tony Stark? Malibu? AI? Please. 

 

“No,” the man insisted, “Here, just,” previously, the man, Tony, was hostile, but now he looked almost eager to convince bucky he had suddenly entered one of those sci-fi nickel and dime novels, and somehow entered the future, meeting Howard's son. 

 

Tony reached to the bedside table, and Bucky tightened his grip on his knife further, tensing again, but all he picked up was this funny looking piece of flat, opaque glass, with a plastic frame.

 

“Here, this is a phone, ugh, a Stark Phone, I designed it,”

 

“ _ That’s  _ a phone?” Bucky asked skeptically. That fragile-looking piece of glass and plastic was a phone?

 

“I can call someone, To prove it to you?” Tony challenged and bucky sat back, putting his knife back in his belt- and he noticed Tony relaxed, letting out a soft breath- and crossing his arms. “Go ahead, Stark, prove it.”

 

Nodding, keeping a side eye on Bucky, Stark pressed on the screen and a ringing sound rang from the glass, and despite himself, Bucky leaned forward, curious.

 

There was a click, then a dames voice sounded from the...The  _ phone holy shit _ .

 

“ _ Tony, why are you calling me at 7 in the morning?”  _  the dame sounded worried for some reason, Bucky noticed, and she sounded pretty neat, too. “ _ Are you ok? Is it a code Obi? Do you need help _ ?”  

 

“No,” Stark answered, making himself sound tired and grumpy, yawning. “Sorry Pep just fell asleep on my phone in the workshop, must’ve face-dialed you. I'm gonna pass out again,”

 

“Tony, you said you were getting more sleep-”

 

“And I am,” Tony replied, wrinkling his nose “the horror. I was just caught up with some specs for the new Stark Tab, fell asleep at the worktable, can I go back to sleep now?” Stark whined the last bit, and the dame chuckled. 

 

“Yes, Tony, go sleep. Remember you have a board meeting this afternoon, at 1:00 pm. Don’t be late, they want to go over the Stark Tab you’re making.”

 

“Will that be all, Ms. Potts?” Tony mumbled, and The Dame replied, her voice fond, “That will be all, Mr. Stark.”

 

Pressing a little red area on the glass screen, there was a dial tone, then the screen went black.

 

“So, Marty Mcfly, that enough proof for you?” Stark asked, lowing the phone to his lap, and Bucky nodded, stunned.  

 

“I don’ know who that is but… yeah, uh. That’s, really- really neat- oh god-” Suddenly, the reality of his situation caught up to him, and Bucky’s chest tightened, and he had trouble breathing. 

 

He was  _ in the fucking future  _ **_holy shit_ ** .

 

What the hell was he gonna do? How did this happen? 

Steve- what had happened to his friend? It had been almost seventy years, Steve would be in his nineties!

“Hey, Barnes, shit, calm down- here, breath with me-” Stark grabbed one of his hands, placing it on his chest, and did the same with his own. “In- 2,3,4. Out-,2,3,4, in-” he continued this for a few minutes until Bucky’s breathing evened out, and then he just breathed for a few minutes after Stark released their hands. 

 

“...what happened to Stevie?” Bucky whispered and felt his heart drop when he saw Starks face fall, and the flinch he let out. 

 

“...Stark?” Bucky growled, “What happened to Steve?”

 

“He died,” Stark whispered and-

 

His world fell from under his feet. 

 

“ _ What? _ ” The breath left his lungs, and he felt like he had been stabbed in the gut, and like someone had torn his heart from his chest. 

 

“He died saving the world. Steve Rogers died crashing a plane carrying enough bombs to bury new york and its surrounding cities, into the Arctic. His plane was never found.”

 

“No...Steve…” Bucky whimpered, and Stark shifted uncomfortably. 

“I’m sorry for your loss, Barnes,” Stark said quietly, and Bucky just sobbed. 

 

“Shit… that stupid  _ self-sacrificing PUNK _ !” Bucky snapped, making Stark flinch. 

 

It was a while before Bucky stopped cursing and ranting, and then he just slumped over, his face in his hands.

 

“What m’ I suposta’ do now?” the Sniper wondered out loud, and Stark coughed. 

 

“Well, first, you should probably get out of my bed. Then maybe a shower? And clothes that you won’t die of heatstroke in?”

 

Bucky nodded, exhausted. He had a plan. It was a short-term one, but- it was a plan. 

 

He would see what happened after that.

 

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

 

“So, shower,” Stark mumbled, yawning for real this time. He waved the hand that wasn’t covering his yawning mouth towards the other side of the room. Looking, Bucky noticed a door that must have led to the bathroom. Looking back at Stark, Bucky noticed with some amusement that the other man looked like he was falling asleep sitting up.

Now that Bucky thought about it, Stark was acting surprisingly calmly (considering the situation, e.g. man thought dead over seventy years ago drops out of thin air and into his bed, then threatens him with a knife), and the sight of him falling asleep made Bucky feel… almost concerned for the man's mental health; what kind of idiot just calmly accepts a man from the future dropping in their bed? Was it something that happened often enough in this day and age that it wasn’t surprising? Who stays in bed with said strange man when they threaten them with a knife, when they could have easily told their…AI to call for help (he guessed that was a possibility, wouldn’t be a very cool AI if you couldn’t use it to call for help- and why didn’t the AI call for help itself? Was it able to without being told? Bucky’s inner tech lover was itching to ask a ton of questions about the futures tech, especially that AI)

 

What made Bucky even more worried for the Stark’s mental health, was that he was falling asleep-

 

Nope, had _fallen asleep_ while a stranger was in his bed, in his _home_.

Forget the fact that he really _was_ Bucky Barnes and had proved that; Stark should have more self-preservation skills than a damn gnat. He clearly didn’t, since he was falling asleep while a stranger who _threatened him with a knife and appeared out of fucking thin air_ was in his room.

 

_‘What the hell did you teach your kid, Howard?’_ Bucky thought with a snort. Jesus H Christ.

Sighing after Stark let out a soft snore, Bucky pushed himself up, silently cursing the silk-like (though considering this was a Stark’s bed, it was probably real silk) sheets as he tried to carefully slip and slide his way off them.

Bucky set his feet on the carpet and noticed with some delight that it was the softest carpet he had ever felt, and that was through his boots. Ambling toward the bathroom, trying to not be too loud, because while he did still think Stark was stupider than Steve when he fought bullies in every back alley in Brooklyn, he was raised by his ma to be polite. So, he let the man sleep. It sounded like he didn’t get enough, anyway, so he was doing the man a favor.

 

His eyes popped when he saw the bathroom, in awe of it. The room was the size of his and Stevie’s apartment! Granted, the room he had landed in was the size of four of the aforementioned apartments, but Stark was rich, probably so- but _still_! Who needed a bathroom this big?

 

Though Bucky thought, looking at the huge shower with four heads and even bigger tub with weird looking silver disks along the sides, he could see the pleasure in a big bathroom.

 

Closing and locking the door behind him, Bucky began stripping his clothes off, before a voice made him jump and cover his balls and dick in modesty.

 

“Sergeant Barnes, my research indicates that you would be used to cold showers due to lack of hot water in your time. That is something you do not have to worry about here. You may have it as hot as you like, thou I would suggest working it gradually, since your core temperature is still lower than what is normal, due to what I can only guess is your Alpine location before landing in Sir’s bed.”

 

Blushing, Bucky looked around for any camera’s in the bathroom, but couldn’t see any. Bucky was sure Stark was not someone to break someone’s privacy that badly but-

 

“…Can you see in here, Uh, JARVIS?” Bucky asked, still covering himself.

“No, Sergeant Barnes, I cannot. That would be a gross violation of privacy, and Sir is very strict on such matters. I can only monitor your vitals and can only hear you when you talk to me directly. Any other sounds will not be transmitted to my servers.”

 

Bucky heard the unsaid _you can masturbate all you like and I won’t hear or record you_ loud and clear. Wonderful.

 

Relaxing a bit, Bucky stopped covering himself and stiffly walked over to the shower, his muscles that he had used to hang on for dear life on the train aching, now that he was up and walking. Stepping into the shower, he looked at the knobs and other buttons on the shower wall that appeared to be how to make the shower turn on. Refusing to bother the AI further (and if he admitted to himself, still a little creeped out by the thought of JARVIS being in the bathroom, even if the AI couldn’t see him) he put his deceptively sharp brain to work, and fiddle with the settings until he found himself moaning in delight under the hot water. Mindful of JARVIS’ warning about not raising his temperature too fast, he went from warm to steam filling the room, a smile on his face as the four surrounding showerheads pelted his sore and aching muscles.

 

The shampoo that he used smelt like mint and rosemary, and looking at the label, it told him the same thing, and the little matching upside-down bottle beside it said conditioner. Shrugging, he used the upside-down bottle after he shampooed, following the instruction and waiting three minutes, after using the bottle labelled ‘body wash’ that smelt like something earthy (according to the bottle, it was environmentally-friendly Bamboo scented, whatever that meant), then washed it out, and purred in delight when he found it made his hair silky and smooth. He bet his left arm that when his hair dried, his curls would be softer and cleaner than they had been since he was a baby.

 

After he finished everything, he stood in the shower for a few more minutes, indulging himself until he found himself in the first stages of pruning, then shut the shower off, and stepped out.

 

Grabbing the towel that was folded on the shelf, he grinned at the feeling of the fluffiest fucking towel he had ever laid on his skin, then wrapped it around his waist, his skin flush and pink, months of grime and dirt washed away to reveal pale skin from lack of sun, and a few scars here and there, from bullets, shrapnel, knives, and scrapes. War marked him, but it no longer owned him, since Tony didn’t sound like a Nazi, and he was sure he would have mentioned if Hitler had won. It was kind of something you would mention to someone fresh from the middle of War.

 

Looking at his dirty uniform, he grimaced at the thought of pulling it back on and resigned himself to waking Stark up in order to get something to wear. Bucky made sure the Towel was firmly secured (no need to flash his bits to his, however unwilling, host) he opened the door and walked back into the bedroom.  And stared.

 

Stark was gone, but an outfit was laid out on the bed that looked his size (he tried not to think about how weird that was). It was a weird style, the red shirts tag declaring it a ‘Henley’ and the jeans were made of a butter-soft material and tighter than he remembered them, but putting them on and looking at himself, he grinned at how it hugged his ass and thighs.

 

Damn, but future-clothing made him look hot.

 

He always did hate wearing suspenders.

 

“Sir is waiting for you in the Kitchen Sergeant Barnes. It should be on your left a few meters down the hallway out of this room.”

Still a little freaked out by the all-seeing AI, Bucky nodded, and followed JARVIS’ instructions and walked out of the room, looking with sharp eyes that widened in disbelief as he entered the kitchen.

 

Bucky whistled, looking at the place.

 

“Damn, can everyone have ‘a place like this, Stark? ‘S real nice, I ain’t seen nothin’ like it before,” running his hand along what looked, and felt, like a marble countertop (were those gold flakes in the marble?!) marveling at its sleek look and looking at the crazy looking stove and the silver colored ice-box. And what was the tiny oven looking thing on the counter?

 

“The hell is that thing?” Bucky poked at the mini oven, examining it. “Some sorta’, compact oven or some shit?”

 

Stark grinned at him, amused. “I’m impressed, Barnes, you’re pretty much right. It’s called a microwave, they came out in the late fifties, I think. It cooks food faster, and warms up cold food, and cooks frozen meals.”

 

Bucky cocked his head, frowning; “Frozen meals?”

 

Tony nodded, opening the Ice-Box and-

 

**_Holy shit._ **

 

“ _Holy shit_ that’s a ton a’ food, pal!” Bucky gasped, looking with bulging eyes at the contents of the full Ice-Box. He had never seen so much food in one place in his _life_.

 

Stark looked confused for a second at his reaction before his eyes cleared and realization dawned.

“Oh, right, you’re from the depression era, I forgot,” Stark winced. “oops.”

 

“Does everyone in th’ future have that much food in their Ice Box?” Bucky wondered, still looking at all the frozen food (and wasn’t that a marvel- you could freeze foo to save it!) in the Ice-Box.

 

“Um, its both a fridge and a freezer, and not everyone, there are still people that can’t afford this amount of food. But generally, working-class people have enough to feed themselves, and anyone else have places they can go to or things they can sign up for to get what they need.” Stark opened the bottom part and Bucky felt faint at the sheer amount of fresh fruit, veggies, deli meats, cheese, condiments, milk-

“I think,” Bucky said slowly, “That this is my favorite part of the future so far.”

 

“I would guess so,” Stark said quietly, keeping the doors open.

Bucky smiled, “Stevie would love- oh,” Bucky looked down, clenching his fists; remembering.

 

Stevie was dead.

 

“I’m sorry, Barnes, truly,” Stark told him, looking at him with sympathetic, brown eyes. “I wish I could change what happened, but, I don’t even know how _you_ traveled in time,”

 

Bucky shrugged, trying to ignore the prickling in his eyes.

 

“’S fine,” He mumbled, “’read ‘nough Nickle an’ dimes ta’ know messin’ with th’ past ain’t a smart idea.”

 

Tony looked at him with an odd look and Bucky frowned.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re a good man, Barnes.” He said.

 

“It’s common sense, pal. Nothin’ special,” he grunted.

 

“Most people would kill to change their past.” Stark pointed out, and Bucky snorted, rolling his shoulder.

 

“I’m not most people.”

 

“I’m beginning to get that, yeah.”

 

* * *

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

* * *

 

 

“So, the War…” Bucky asked, playing with his fork, the meal that was on his plate (and man, it was the best thing he’d had since Stevie’s ma-) long since eaten. “You’re not speakin’ German so-”

 

“Shit,” Stark cursed checking upright from his slumped position in his stool, “I should have led with that- yeah, we won. Sorry, Barnes,” Stark looked contrite. “I am so out of my depth right now, and it's taking everything in me not to drag you to my lab and run test after test,” 

 

Bucky shuddered, flashes of Zola’s table and _painpainpain_ sparking his every nerve, and he jerked back, snarling at Stark.

 

“Fuckin’ no damn tests, don’t you _dare-_ ” Bucky gasped, his anger turning quickly into fear as he backed away, the cool feeling of the refrigerator settling through his borrowed shirt.

 

The hell he would be a lab rat again! Bucky felt terror fill him, and a ringing noise filled his ears, his vision white with panic as the sound of Zola’s calm voice whispered in his ears, and phantom pains of needles and knives pierced his skin. He couldn’t do this again, not now, not after he already lost Stevie-

 

“-nes,”

 

He couldn’t handle another needle punctured harshly into his chest-

 

“-arnes,”

 

He could deal with more knives testing whatever freak healing they had given him-

 

“-ome on,”

 

He couldn’t do it, not without knowing Stevie was gonna save him again-

 

“’’t’s ok,”

 

He couldn’t-

 

He coul-

 

He cou-

 

He blacked out. 

 

 

The first thing he was aware of, was the feeling of having gargled glass, his throat searing with pain as he swallowed, the click of his swallow loud to his ears.

 

The second thing he was aware of was a cool cloth on his brow, and a feminine humming from beside him, the sound soothing and reminding him of when his ma would sing him to sleep when he was sick as a kid.

 

The third was that he felt achy, hot and cold, and his head a mucky. He was sick, then. The humming must be one of the nurses in the med tents, he must have fallen ill on a mission and been sent to one of the army hospitals. He must have been really badly off to have been sent to a real hospital and not just a field hospital, or even just been told to suck it up.

 

He let himself bask in the comfort of the woman humming, memories of doing the same to Stevie on the (many) occasions the punk got sick with something or another.

Little things were bothering him, though, like the quiet; other than the humming from the woman, and another faint hum he guessed was the lightbulbs, he couldn’t hear anything else. Shouldn’t there be other sounds? Patents? Crying? Other nurses?  Anything?

 

And the air smelt wrong, too; no smell of bleach, or disinfectant, no iron smell of blood or urine- typical smells in any hospital.

And the bed- the bed was what told him something was _really_ wrong because it was _heaven_. It was the most comfortable thing to ever cradle his body and that was _wrong_. He should be feeling starched sheets and a hard, thin mattress atop a cheap iron frame, a typical hospital bed but instead he was laying on a damn _marshmallow_. He felt like he was going to sink through to the floor.

 

Unconsciously, he stiffened, and the humming stopped.

 

“Sergeant Barnes?”

 

What he _wanted_ to do was jump up and demand his location, but instead of his body cooperating, his arms just flopped weakly at his sides, to heavy to move, and, he just realized, the cool cloth was covering his eyes, so he couldn’t open them to see. He felt a spark of panic fill him, and he whimpered.

 

“Sergeant…Barnes…James Buchannan, 32557038…” the woman let out a soft gasp, and he felt a soft hand on his brow that he flinched at, and the cloth was removed. A slightly hazy vision of a red-haired woman with kind eyes made him gulp; had HYDRA captured a nurse to tend to him while he was ill, to stuck up to do it themselves? Why not just let him die?

 

“di-uhn, did they getcha too doll?” Bucky croaked, his throat searing with pain, making him wince.

 

“Shhh…oh, James, it’s alright, do you remember where you are? Do our ember what happened when you fell from the train?”

 

And suddenly-

 

He remembered;

 

The fall, Steves scream of denial, the wind rushing through his hair and the fear of falling, landing on a bed in the future, Howard's son, the shower, the food and-

 

“N-no,” Bucky moaned, tears pricking his eyes, despite his heavy body, he still tried to get up, but failed, the woman- he recognized her voice; this must be Pepper- pushing gently down on his shoulders, his body weak like a kitten, flopping down on the bed.

 

“Don; wanna’ be ‘sperimented- pl’s” he begged, looking at the brown-eyed woman with pleading eyes. Pepper’s eyes widened then softened.

 

“Oh, honey, no,” she cooed, running a hand through his hair, and Bucky closed his eyes at the soothing feeling, a tear running down his cheek. “Tony didn’t mean it that way, James, he just wanted to see what made you travel in Time- and that was defiantly a shocker when he told me- and he wouldn’t do _anything_ without your consent, I promise you; Tony is a big fan of yes and no, ok? If you say no, he won’t even bring it up again, ok?”

 

Bucky could see even through his hazy brain that she was being truthful, so he took her word at face value. For now.

 

“Why’m I sick?”

 

“I think your body just crashed, sweetie,” she smiled, still stroking a hand through his hair, “from history lesson’s, you’ve been non-stop until you fell, and when you finally relaxed and got some good food into your stomach, it all caught up to you.”

 

“m’ still no’ use ta’ bein’- bein’ in th’ history book’s, ‘s weird.”

 

Pepper laughed softly, I’m sure it is, sweetie. I can’t imagine.”

Bucky felt tiredness once again poking at him, pulling his eyelids down like lead weights, and he yawned.

“’epper?”

 

“Yes, James?” she looked at him with warm brown eyes.

 

“C’n I go back ta’ sleep now’ pl’s?”

 

“of course, you can, honey,”

 

“Can ya’ sing me ta’ sleep? Y’ have a nice voice,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

 

“I would love to, James.”

 

“’s Bucky,” he protested, feebly.

 

“I would love to, Bucky,” she laughed quietly.

 

Then she began to hum, and Bucky fell asleep to the feeling of hands in his hair and memories of his ma flashing behind his eyelids.

 

* * *

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky sighed as he did up the last button on his shirt and rolled up the sleeves, smiling at the way the fabric felt against his skin; another perk to the future was that the fabric used for clothing was a hell of a lot softer and gentler on his skin.

He had woken up that morning feeling better than he had in a week ago (which was when he had blacked out in Stark’s kitchen and woken up to Pepper humming to him.). He had gotten out of bed and almost immediately seen the blatantly open closet that was filled with clothes of all modern styles (including a leather corset which-um, he was interested to note that it would most likely fit him) and in his size, including some real nice looking shoes. He was still a little weirded out that they knew his size down to his drawers, but he shook it off, knowing that from what Pepper had told him about Stark, he was just being nice, and wanting to help him.

 

“ _It’s fine James. Tony doesn’t have anyone to spend his money on, really, other than himself, so he spends it on people he cares about,” she smiled, her eyes sparkling, “I haven’t bought my own wardrobe in years. And I haven’t worn a non-designer label in the same amount of time.”_

_“So,” Bucky said slowly, comprehendingly “he does it ‘coz he like me, or something’?”_

_Peppers eyes widened, “Oh, I’m sure it’s just platonic, not that there’s anything wrong if you return Tony’s flirting-”_

_Bucky froze, “Wait- whaddya’ mean there’s nothin’ wrong with flirtin’ with ‘im? Won’ he be arrested if it comes out he likes- that he likes… other men?” Bucky bit his lip._

_“Oh,” Pepper perked up, “No, Sweetie, a lot has changed since the forties; one of those things is that is completely legal to be openly and publicly gay, you can even get married now!”_

_Bucky choked on his own spit, shocked; “Well, ain’t that the bee’s knees!” he smiled, “th’ future is amazin’, doll!”_

_Pepper burst into giggles, and Bucky frowned, confused._

_“What’s so funny, doll?”_

_“Bee’s knee’s!” she gasped between giggles, and Bucky looked at her, a bemused smile on his lips._

_“What?” he asked, and she just shook her head, still laughing, “What?”_

Smiling at the memory, he remembered that Pepper had told him her grandfather used to say that expression, and hearing it seriously from someone younger than her sounded so ridicules it was funny. It had a depressing side though, a reminder that he wasn’t from this time, and that he should be just as old as Peppers grandfather, yet he looked even younger than her.

 

Looking in the mirror, his face was still slightly pale from his bout with illness (Pepper said he had the flu, which he panicked at until she said it wasn’t as deadly as it was in his time, which was amazing), he had a week’s worth of stubble that was rapidly turning into a beard, and his eyes were a little bloodshot with bruises underneath, but all in all, he looked- well he looked better than he had in awhile, but he still looked a little ragged. Bucky hoped he would look better with a shave.

 

He had gotten as far as the shaving cream on his face, and the new-old ‘vintage’ razor Stark had bought, inches from his face before he paused, looking in the mirror. Lowing his hand, he narrowed his eyes at the mirror, looking at his curls that were neatly trimmed (thanks to Pepper and her surprise Barber skills) into a modern cut, shorter at the sides, and long on top.

 

It was a new look; a new him- a new Bucky. If he shaved… he knew it didn’t make much sense- or at least it wouldn’t to anyone else, he thought- but if he shaved off the almost-but-not-quite-a-beard, then he would be going back to the old Bucky; the Bucky that had danced with dames and hid his back-alley meet-ups and ran to break up fights to save a tiny spitfire with a heart of gold; the old Bucky that slicked his hair back with pomade and shaved because it was something that was expected of a man, clean-shaven and hair combed to perfection.

 

But he was in the future now; he had modern clothes that the old Bucky would never have worn (including that leather corset which he totally was _not_ curious about thank you very much) and a haircut that would never have been accepted, and he just- he wanted to start over. He didn’t want to be the Bucky that lived in the past; he couldn’t get back- they thought he was dead, and history said so, and he didn’t mess with that shit- and he didn’t want to mope around and live in the past that he couldn’t get back. Bucky wanted to start anew, he wanted to be someone _different_.

 

So, he washed off the shaving cream, picked up a pair of bears trimmers, and carefully trimmed and shaped until he looked like his beard was stylish instead of messy.

 

Looking in the mirror, what he saw was a new man.

 

A modern man.

 

“Hey, Jarvis?”

 

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

 

“Can you call me James, from now on?”

 

Sounding fond, JARVIS replied; “Of course, Mr. James.”

 

“Good enough,” he chuckled.

 

James smiled at the new man in the mirror, and laughed, the sound was slightly forced, but he knew that it would ring true eventually. He just had to live and learn about his new future.

 

* * *

 

 

Walking into the kitchen, he was greeted with Stark tapping away on his tablet, and Pepper eating a bowl of fruit while looking through a few papers. They both looked up when he walked in and gapped at him. Stark’s eyebrows raised to his hairline, and Pepper beamed.

 

“Damn, Barnes! You clean up nice!” Tony coughed, looking him over; the old Bucky would have blushed at a man looking at him that way, but James just winked at a now shocked Tony and stretched his arms above his head.

 

“I know, I look like a whole new fella, Stark,” James laughed, and Pepper coughed.

 

“You look amazing, James, are you happy with the clothing? We can get more-”

 

“No-no, really you got me plenty, _more_ than enough, really,” Bucky thought about the corset. “Way more.” Tony grinned like he knew what he was thinking about. Cheeky short little shit.

 

“Ok,” Pepper nodded, still smiling, “But if you need anything, just ask JARVIS, or get JARVIS to call me,”

 

“Hey, why can’t he come to me?” Stark pouted and Pepper shot him an amused look, taking a bit out of the fattest, greenest, juiciest grape James had seen in his life.

 

“Because, Tony, you would go overboard and poor James would be buried in more than he would ever want or need. Moderation is key,”

 

“Bucky-bear could use some spoiling Pep,” Tony whined, and James coughed, making the two look over at him.

 

“Uh, yeah, um about tha’ name- I wanna go by James now, an’ I asked Jarvis ta’ call me by it too, so uh, if that’s ok?” James shifted uncomfortably under there assessing looks.

“That’s totally fine Bu- James, you can be called whatever you want. Any reason for the sudden change in- everything?” Stark waved his hand, vaguely gesturing to all of James.

 

“Yeah,” James huffed, scuffing his toe along the carpet, “I realized; I’m in tha’ future, an’ I’m, I’m not the same guy I was before th’ war, an’ I,” He swallowed, clenching his fists, avoiding their eyes, instead looking out the beautiful view out the window to the beach. “I don’ wanna be Bucky anymore; Bucky disappeared when he left for tha’ war, an’ he died when he fell off’a tha’ train. I need ta’ be someone new, an’ put my past behind me’. I can’t wallow in th’ past when I’ll never get it back, see? ‘s not healthy. So, new look, new clothes, new name,” James rubbed his chin, feeling the hairs scrape against his palm, a foreign, but releasing feeling. “New me.”

 

He expected them to protest, to try to change his mind.

 

But they just smiled, and James-

 

He relaxed.

 

He would be ok.

 

Not yet but… eventually.

 

Soon.

 

* * *

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not completely sure about this one, tell me your thoughts!

 

* * *

 

 

“Trenta Caramel Frappe with Extra whipped cream for James Holmes!”

 

James ambled up to the counter, apologizing as he bumped into a businessman on his phone that just sniffed at him and continued talking about mergers or whatever. He smiled at the dame who handed him his drink, and she blushed heavily, giving a shy one back.

 

“Thanks… Kira,” James winked, reading the girl's name tag, and she smiled.

 

“You’re welcome, James!” her co-workers called her back, and she left, and he grabbed his drink, walking to an empty table and sitting down. Sipping on the straw, he used one hand to unzip his bag and bring out the laptop Stark had spent all of half an hour showing him how to use before he threw his hands up and admitted James caught on quicker than he thought he would. James had to admit, it caught even him by surprise when he was able to learn how to use the tech the Stark showed him relatively quickly. Stark said he was smarter than the average geriatric (and got a raised eyebrow from James and a slap to the shoulder from Pepper) and told him that he might not be on Tony’s level of genius, but he was clearly beyond average, too. Stark had asked him if he was tested in high school, and James admitted that he dropped out in eighth grade to help pay for things after his pa died.

 

_“Wait, so you dropped out of high school, but You’re a sniper?” Stark raised his eyebrows, and James returned the look._

_“Yeah, so?” He drawled, back stiffening in defense, which Tony noticed, and raised his hands._

_“Hey, no,” the inventor spluttered, “I didn’t mean it like that sounded, I just meant; Sniping is more than just pointing and shooting, ok? Its complex equations and factoring in wind, environment, angles, distance; it’s a lot of math- and you didn’t even finish eighth grade?”_

_“Well, I’ve always been good at math,” James shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal, and he said so._

_“No,” Tony denied, looking at James with wide eyes “It is definitely a big deal; you- not only were you a sniper; they have you down as the army’s **greatest** sniper, James- like nobody has been that good since. And the math involved in some of your recorded kills are **insane** , ok?” Stark looked manic, and James was worried the man had lost his top. “So don’t stand there and tell me that you making those types of shots with that type of math when you **never finished eighth grade** is ‘No big deal’, cause it **really is**.”_

So Stark had James tested, and apparently, he was just a bit below Starks level which- ok, James admitted was a bit of a shock. He had told Stark that it didn’t matter much anyway since he didn’t have the formal education to back it up; not to mention- He was legally dead. To the rest of the world, he died when he fell off the train in the Alps.

 

Stark had nonchalantly asked him when he was distracted what kind of name he would like if he wanted a new one, and, distracted by his new tablet, threw out; ‘James William Holmes’.

 

The next day he had Papers, a birth certificate, passport, drivers license, credit and debit card, a damn solid paper-trail; all under the name ‘James William-Scott Holmes. Because apparently, Stark thought he was hilarious after binge-watching Sherlock on BBC with him. Not that he minded, he liked the name.

After that, Stark had enrolled him to get his GED, and… well. He had finished that and passes with a score of 2300. Which… yeah. Stark had taken one look and enrolled him into MIT courses.

 

James could hardly believe he’s been in the future for six months.

 

Steve had been dead (in his mind) for six months.

 

It hardly seemed real sometimes. Sometimes he kind of just… drifted through the hours; like, he was there, he was interacting and walking and talking and doing things but- it was like he was watching from the outside, almost. He would smile, but the brittle edges would ring false, and his laughter sounded like it was just a push away from turning into sobbing, and sometimes he went to bed, and a little dark voice in the back of his head would wonder “ _Would it be so bad if you didn’t wake up again?”_.  He knew, from the things he had read, from Peppers careful comments, that he was clearly depressed, and probably should talk to a professional about it, but really; who would he talk to? He was fully aware after his time in the future that suddenly popping out of nowhere seventy years after you were reported KIA was _not_ normal and would probably give him a one-way ticket to the nearest government facility. James shivered at the thought of the tests they would attempt on him.  

 

The bang of somebody dropping their phone and the resulting cursing made him flinch, for a split second getting a flash of guns blasting and similar cursing from the Commandos before he shook his head, pursing his lips. Determinedly sipping his sweet drink, he opened his laptop and pulled open his homework. He had to write a thesis on how AI technology could be put into practical everyday use and make it affordable for the Average person. Having JARVIS around made this so much easier.

He would be finished in no time.

 

 

The next few months went by faster, he finished his thesis, he wrote his own AI programme: FRIDAY, to keep JARVIS company (and together, they were a sassy menace) and he eventually broke down and saw a therapist, holding back on the future bit, just saying that he woke from a coma from his childhood and everything had changed, and found out his best friend had died in the Army. Sarah O’Conner reminded him a lot of Sarah Rogers, and James knew she was aware he was holding back, but she didn’t mention it.

 

Then a year passed, and he was in the future for a year and a half.

 

And then Phil Coulson arrived, and with him; Loki.

Suddenly his world flipped upside down for the third time.

 

Because- Steve… Steve was alive.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which plot is twisted to my liking.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re tellin’ me Steve’s… alive?” James mumbled at Fury, eyes wide, sitting at the table in the helicarrier.  Fury looked at him with dark eyes, an eyebrow raised.

 

“Is it so shocking, Barnes, oh,” He said sarcastically, “ _Holmes_? Because as far as I know, you’re sitting in front of me alive and well, seventy years after you were reported KIA,” Fury turned his glare on Tony, and the Billionaire just smirked. “Thanks for mentioning that to us, Stark, it’s things like that that give me trust issues.” Fury huffed when Stark just shrugged.

 

“James didn’t want to be a government lab rat, eyepatch,” Tony leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the SHIELD Director. “The last thing I wanted to do was tell you and the WSC that I had a Time Traveler on my hands, from WW2, who was Captain America’s best friend,” Snorting, Tony shook his head, “They would have screamed for him to be put in their labs so fast-” Tony took a breath, and then looked at Fury, a glare matching the older mans, “No. The guy deserved better, and besides,” He smirked, “He ended up in my bed; finders keepers.”

 

James had thought about it before, in the last year and a half since he had been living in the tower, and the future, with Tony, that he felt affection for the genius, but suddenly, watching the smaller man defend him so heatedly, passionately- it hit him suddenly, and without warning;

 

He was in love with Tony Stark.

 

Shit.

 

Pulling out of his thought, and trying to not panic at them, he turned to Fury again.

 

“So, if Stevie’s alive, where the hell is he?”

 

At his question, Fury twitched, and hesitated, his eyes darting down and to the left, and James’ gut twisted.

 

“I swear to god if you lie to me-” James snarled, eyes livid, and Tony leaned forward.

 

“We don’t know.”

 

“Wait- what?” Tony squeaked, looking at Fury with wide eyes.

 

“What the _fuck_ does that mean?” James demanded, standing up, hands clenched into fists on the table and his whole body tense.

 

What the hell- how could they know he was alive, but not where he is? How the hell did that even fucking work? He thought the future worked better than that, with all the high tech cameras and lack of follow through in privacy laws and shit.  He was not going to be told that his best friend was alive after a year and a half morning him, then have his hope crushed by them saying they don’t know where the damn 6’4 hulking mass of serum-laced muscle, no sense of subtlety, even was.

 

“It means, Holmes, that your friend has been alive and walking around for about sixty years, and we only just learned his identity before the whole Loki shit when down. After the battle, we decided to tell you after you had a couple of weeks to calm down- the last thing this place needed was a trigger-happy Nomad fresh outta his first alien battle running in blind.”

 

“You make it sound like you knew someone, and you just found out that someone was Steve.”

 

“We did, his codename is The Winter Soldier.”

 

“No,” Stark breathed, “Hell no. just- no, that’s not possible,”

 

Tony looked, he looked horrified at Fury’s words, like the man had told him Steve was some _nightmare_ or something.

 

“Tony, what the hell is-”

 

“He’s a Soviet Assasin. Most of the intelligence organization doesn’t believe he exists, but the ones that do-” Tony swallowed, “They call him The Winter Soldier. He’s credited with two-dozen assassination in the last fifty years; strong, fast, two metal arms, red stars on each shoulder,” Shuddering, Tony added, “They say the last thing you see is the gleam of metal and the shine on long, blond hair, and your face reflected in his empty, blue, icy eyes.”

 

No. just- it couldn’t be, not his Stevie. The man he knew would never do something like that; he wouldn’t- he wouldn’t be an Assasin; a gun for higher, let alone for the Russians, no matter that they were allies in the War. The Steve he knew wouldn’t just kill people like that.

 

“How do you know it’s him?” James set his jaw, “Maybe it’s just someone who looks like-” James’ mouth snapped shut, his eyes wide, and a wounded noise ripped from his throat as a picture from a security camera popped up on the screen.

 

The hair was longer, a bit wavy; the eyes were blank, and the two arms were metal, his chest adorned with black tac-gear…but-

 

It was Steve. James would know that face anywhere. Only his friend-

 

One of the things that had drawn a young Bucky Barnes toward Steve Rogers was his fire; his spunk. The little blond had a strong personality that he could never hide from his face, and it showed with every smile, every frown, scowl or grin. Steve Rogers eyes and face advertised his thought for the world to see and he was never able or willing to change that.

 

The Winter Soldier’s face was blanker than a piece of paper.

 

No emotion, no life, no thoughts. Empty, soulless, and blank.

 

James shivered.

 

“H-how did this happen?”

 

Fury sighed, rubbing his chin.

 

“Our recent discovery in the Arctic indicates that Steve Rogers was dug out of the ice about five years after he crashed into it. And not by us, but by the Russians.”

 

“And then?” James demanded, furious, “Because I know Steve, and he would never do this, not willingly.”

“Recent Intel believes the Winter Soldier is brainwashed. His memory erased before and after missions. That’s all we know, and I lost ten good agents to get just that Intel, Holmes.”

 

“So,” Stark said, after a few moments of silence, James having lost the ability to speak, “How are we getting him back?”

 

* * *

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

* * *

 

 

The thing was, James knew within th first few days, a year and a half ago, that the future would have surprises for him. He knew that there would be things that would make his world turn on its axis more than once, and push against his world-view and shatter his expectations. But back then, the future was new and shiny and full of things that he could only dream about when he was a kid. He had been fascinated by everything the future had to hold, and tried to, if not forget, then to soften the blow of losing everything he knew, his whole life; James embraced his new name, he put his all into making a new life. He wanted the move on; because he knew that if he didn’t, he would go down that pit of despair and fear and lose himself; everything he was. He would fall, and never get back up. He wanted to live, if not for himself, then for Steve. James knew that if Steve knew that he let himself fall into the darkness that he would come back from the dead and kick his ass.

 

James had decided to live, and he had done if for Steve, because back then, in the past, he had truly loved him, even if he couldn’t express it; at one point, if they had been born in the future, James was sure they would have ended up together. They would have had a romance to write sonnets about. But they were born in a time where that kind of love could get you arrested, or killed. Then James fell and landed in the future, and he learned Steve had died. He had changed, over that year and a half, and he had fallen for Tony, even if the Inventor didn’t know it yet. He had changed, and so had his feelings for Steve. The once strong, romantic love he had felt for him had changed into a strong, solid brotherly love. But at that point, Steve was still dead; still far and impossible to reach. Now…

Steve was alive. Steve was alive, but he wasn’t _Steve_ ; He was The Winter Soldier.

 

James knew that if he were able to get Steve back, the blond would never be the same. He had read what intel they had on The Soldier; what he had gone through. It wasn’t pretty. Sixty years of torture, brainwashing, and conditioning from the Russians in The Red Room made Steve into something that filled the nightmares of people in the intelligence community, and he knew that even when they got him back if they were able to restore his memory… James knew that Steve might not be able to handle all the things he had done for sixty years, the people they made him kill, the torture he had gone through.

 

 

* * *

 

 

James sat at the edge of his bed, staring at a photo that really should have been yellowed with age, but looked in almost perfect condition if a little creased from multiple viewings. He had it in his uniform when he had fallen, and he had found it morbidly funny that he had what was technically a seventy-year-old picture in perfect condition like he had taken it the day before.

 

It was a picture of him and Steve, arms around each other, laughing and looking at the camera, both of them in their formal uniforms. Peggy had taken the picture, right after they had been to a ceremony for James’ Purple Heart. James remembered the shine of Steve’s eyes as they sparkled in the light, and the grin on Peggy’s face as she scolded them teasingly to take the picture, and Bucky cheekily telling her that he would gladly do it if Steve would stop doing it too.

 

 

It was one of the rare moments of peace that they had, the three of them; the War had kept them Busy and had taken their joy inch by inch, turning them into grim soldiers that had rarely smiled because there wasn’t much to smile about.

 

This picture was the last bit of his past, other than the uniform and knife he had hidden in the back of his closet, washed and ready to be worn if he ever had the need.

 

Caressing a thumb along Steve’s black and white face, he smiled a dim smile, then folded the picture, putting it in his duffle bag, alongside his journal, and clothing. Taking a breath, he put a few more guns and knives in the bag to add to what he already had on his person stashed so that most people couldn’t tell he was armed. The knives were mostly ceramic ones, a few carbon-fiber, plastic, and the rest a metal alloy that would fool metal detectors. His guns and bullets were made out of the same material, and he had a few tranquilizer bullet packs, each bullet filled with enough tranq fluid to drop a charging elephant; or a pissed of super soldier.

 

Taking a breath, he zipped up the duffle, and threw it on his shoulder, taking one last look at his room, the little touches that showed it was his, pictures, drawings, papers with numbers and specs of his projects.

 

“You’re not planning on going without me, are you, Jamie?” Tony’s voice made him flinch, and he looked at his doorway to the man standing with his arms crossed, a larger than his won duffle at his feet. The man had his eyebrow raised, and his smirk didn’t hide the fact that he was mad at James.

 

“You shouldn’t come, Tony, this is dangerous,” James told him, quietly. “You could get killed; you aren’t enhanced, I am.”

 

“Your serum is a knock-off, James, not like your friends. You’re gonna get killed if you go off on your own,” Tony pointed out. “Did you really think I was gonna let you go off on your own to go after your highly-trained Assasin best friend?”

 

“I was kinda’ hopin’ you would,” James admitted with a huff, “But generally you like to dash my hopes, Tony,” Tony gasped, clutching his chest.

 

“Why Mr. Holmes, how dare you! I resent that,” Tony tease, the relaxed, frowning. “James, you’re not going on your own. I’m not- I can’t lose you, you know that- right?” There was something- some emotion in Tony’s eyes that filled James with hope, but that he knew he couldn’t address right now; it wasn’t the time.

 

“I know, Tony,” James looked at his friend imploringly, “But I can’t lose you either, you understand me? I just- I just can't, ok? Not you, Tony.”

 

“I know James,” Tony told him quietly, and smiled sadly, “we’re going to have to talk about this when its time, but right now, let's go; the quinjet is waiting.”

 

Nodding, James grabbed his wallet, shoved it into his pocket, and walked with Tony out the door.

 

When they got to the roof, where the quinjet was waiting, they found a familiar red-head waiting for them with a smirk.

 

“Were you going to leave without me, boys?” Natasha smirked.

 

* * *

 

 

“I was not about to leave you two to fight a man you know nothing about,” Natasha told them, as they sat, the quinjet on autopilot as they flew towards their first lead in Spain.

 

“I’ve known Steve since we were little runts, Nat-”

 

“That’s the point, James; You knew Steve, and The Winter Soldier is _not_ Steve Rogers. He won’t recognize you; he will see you as a threat and attack accordingly. You may have fought with him in WW2, but Yasha trained in the Red Room, not with you. his style will be foreign to you.”

 

“Yasha?” James narrowed his eyes, “You make it sound like you know him, Nat.”

 

“I did, at one point,” Natasha admitted, a far-away look in her eyes.

 

“Do tell, Natashalie,” Tony said dryly.

 

“I met him when I was five, and I knew him until  I escaped the Red Room at nineteen. He trained me. He trained all of us. The requirement for becoming the Black Widow was to beat him when you turned nineteen,” She paused, looking at James, “He let me beat him, and helped me escape. The last time I saw him, they were dragging him to The Chair. I doubt he still remembers me, but we had grown close all those years; I was his favorite, I even named his, Yasha. Which is basically, calling him James, which now that I know who it is…”

 

“Pretty ironic,” Tony remarked with no humor.

 

“So I know how he fights. I know his strengths and weaknesses. You Knew Steve Rogers; I knew Yasha.”

 

Putting his face in his hands, James chuckled.

 

“How the hell did you not recognize him, Nat?”

 

“He wore a… mask. They called it a mask, anyway.” She scowled, “We all knew what it really was; a muzzle.”

 

“They _muzzled_ him?” James growled, eyes spitting fury.

 

She shrugged, her eyes similarly angry. “Yasha was like a dog to them, James. And if they knew he was Steve Rogers, I’m sure they found it greatly amusing to Muzzle the great Captain America like a feral dog.”

 

 

He didn’t have anything to say to that, so he stayed quiet.

 

Leaning back, he closed his eyes, hoping to catch an hour or two of sleep.

He fell asleep in seconds.

 

* * *

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

* * *

 

 

 

“ _Gracias por su ayuda, señor_ ,” James thanked the grey-haired man, and the man nodded, then walked away, twenty euro’s clutched in his weathered hands.

 

“Anything?” Tony asked James and Natasha when they walked back to their car. Tony couldn’t be seen asking the questions; he was too well-known, and it would reach the papers so fast their heads would spin that they were searching for Ste- for the Soldier.

 

James shook his head, then nodded.

 

“Sort-of, he said that he never saw a man with a metal arm, but he did see a man wearing a leather jacket and gloves frequent the Homeless shelter in the center of Saint Sebastian when he went there with his wife last week,” Natasha sighed, and continued,

 

“He said it was unusual because the weather was well into the 130’s and most men with the coloring the man had did not do well in the heat, let alone bundled up. When I asked him what he meant he said; pale skin, Blond hair tied in a bun, wearing a baseball cap with cold blue eyes,” Natasha paused, “He said his wife felt scared of the man. They crossed to the other side of the street to avoid him.”

 

Nat and James got into the car, and Tony started it up, cursing himself for not thinking to pack one of his self-cooling water bottles as he took a sip of luke-warm water before he pulled out.

 

“I can get that,” the engineer grimaced, “It hot as Mordor here, and I’m wearing a tank and shorts; I would hat to be bundled up like that.”

 

Natasha clucked her tongue, and James raised an eyebrow at her.

 

“What?” Natasha shrugged, and James poked her with a sharp finger, making her glare at him, which he just smirked at.

 

“Next time you do that, James, I’ll use it as a knife holder,”

 

“No, you won’t,” James sing-songed, “You love me too much,”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes, but James saw her barely hidden fond smile.

 

“I just thought that the weather might not bother the Soldier; He was put through training that had him able to endure multiple and harsh climates, all while maintaining his cover,” James winced at the reminder, “Maintaining his cover would most likely mean he had to hide his metal arms; subtle, they are not.”

 

“I could totally make a hologram tech that would make them look real,” Tony bragged, “And probably develop some synth skin that would feel real if someone touched them, The Russians are so plebeian,” Tony sniffed.

 

“But they did make those arms, Stark, did you?” Natasha pointed out with a smirk and Tony shrugged.

 

“If I had thought about it, I could probably make better ones; I would totally make you an arm if you ever lose yours, James,” Tony told his Engineering friend, who chuckled at him, the sound a little strained.

 

“I’ll remember that if I ever lose my arm, Tony.”

 

“You better, I don’t want you thinking anybody else could make you an arm as I can,” Tony grinned at him, and James rolled his eyes.

 

“I would help you; you know that right? I mean, it would be my arm, and I can do just as well at this stuff as you, thanks to your help, Tony. Which again, Thank you for that,”

 

Tony’s eyes softened, and he gave James a genuine smile.

 

“You don’t have to thank me for tha, James, It was my pleasure,” he told him, “Besides, Seeing you embarrass my old professor when he looked down on you for having a GED war worth every penny,”

 

James snorted. “You enjoyed rubbing it in his face entirely too much, Tony,”

 

“Guilty as charged,” Toy laughed, then they both yelped when Natasha swatted their heads.

 

“Hey-”

 

“What the hell, Nat-”

 

“I’m glad you two are finding some happy moments, but can we please concentrate on the mission, boys? We need to figure out our next move,”

 

James’ relaxed posture that the time traveler had been enjoying abruptly tensed and the blue-grey eyed man felt a small bit of resentment that Natasha had taken that away from him; he just wanted, for a little bit, to forget why they were here. James didn’t want a reminder that he wasn’t just running around Spain because he was on vacation with his friends.

 

He didn’t want to remember that they were, in fact, hunting down the friend he had left behind in the past, one that had been turned into a killing machine by the people that had claimed to be their allies during the War, but apparently were lying. He didn’t want to remember the picture in the file of Steve- The Soldiers Blank face, eyes closed, hair long and lank, tinted in blue and frozen through the window of a cryo-pod, followed by pages of Russian notes of torture, experiments, mission reports-

 

He just wanted to smile without it feeling empty.

 

But that wasn’t in the cards right now, it seemed. Sighing, James gave Natasha an apologetic look,

 

“Sorry, Tasha,” James said, and she gave him a sad smile back.

 

“It’s alright James, we need to laugh sometimes, but we also need to be prepared; we need a plan, or we will all get killed, we need all the planning we can shove in.”

 

“So, did you happen to get the name of the homeless shelter?”

 

James nodded, “Yeah, the _Romero_ Hostel. It’s a twenty-minute drive into Saint Sebastian. The man said it had been a few days of seeing him go in and out,”

“Which means he probably high-tailed it out of there the minute he saw he was being observed,” Natasha pointed out.

 

“But we can still ask around and see if anyone knows anything about where he’s gonna go next,” Bucky countered, and Natasha dipped her head in acknowledgment.

 

“So, we got about a five-hour drive, seven if we stop to eat,” Tony sighed, “Are we going to stop to eat, or can you two live of pure force of will and stubbornness?” Tony snarked, and James bit his lip, thinking about it, hard.

 

He wanted to get as fast as he could to St- The Soldier, he didn’t want to let the man get even further away while he stuffed his face.

 

But at the same time, he knew that he needed to eat; his knock-off serum required him to eat almost as much as the regular serum had made Steve eat in the war, and James knew that he needed to be at full strength when they finally caught up to The Soldier.

 

“Could we go through a drive-through?” James tried, and Natasha snorted.

 

“I don’t think Spain has Drive-through fast food on our path James.”

“Well, fine, but we can’t take too long, we don’t want to fall way behind him,” crossing his arms, James stared out the window as the scenery passed by in unidentifiable blurs.

 

They had left the quinjet in Tony’s mansion in Madrid (which he assured them he rarely used and the cleaning service only came twice a year, and they had left the month before) and had bought (Tony refused to rent) a inconspicuous car that would blend in with any of the other they would see. They had then immediately left and gone to town to follow up on a lead they had gotten from Fury that after the Winter Soldier went rogue from the Russians, he had gone to Italy. Fury said he didn’t know why The Soldier had gone to Madrid of all places, But Bucky had a fleeting hope;

 

That the Soldier was starting to remember.

 

Because they had been to Madrid, on one of their leave times, back in the War; Bucky had taken Steve to see the many Art attractions the city had, and they had had a hell of a time, even in the middle of a War.

 

But James wasn’t holding out too much hope. Though he honestly couldn’t think of any other reason that the Winter Soldier would choose Madrid of all places to start hiding from The Red Room, or at least its remnants (the rogue Soldier had taken out most of the Red Room when he had left, and any stragglers were currently being taken care of by SHIELD). Luckily, the Winter Soldier was a ghost, only a myth to most of the intelligence community, and to the public and the Government, he wasn’t even real, because they didn’t even know about him. James hoped that would help in keeping the Soldier away from any trial; because the Assassin was brainwashed, he had no control and wasn’t to blame.

 

“Tony?” James asked his friend, and the Billionaire hummed.

 

“You… you know about The Soldiers Mission in-” James swallowed, hesitating before metaphorically pulling up his big-boy pants and continuing; “You know about his Mission in 1991, right?

 

For a bit, there was silence, and James noticed Tony’s hand were clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel, knuckles white, and his jaw was working, eyes resolutely on the road.

 

James waited, his pulse pounding in his ears and his mouth dry; he didn’t know what he would do if Tony reacted negatively, or violently to The Soldier killing his parents. Howard, James had learned, Tony didn’t much care for, but his Mum… God, Tony had adored his mother. James knew that if someone had killed his mother, and was walking around, even brainwashed… he didn’t know what he would do; he hoped he would be able to react rationally, but his ma- his ma was his everything, and he wondered if he would be able to forgive even Steve if is had been his Ma the Soldier had killed; Brainwashed assassin or not. He hoped so, and he selfishly thought that he was glad he would never have to find out, then felt horrible for it.

 

Tony… The soldier had killed his mother, and James had known Tony for almost two years now, and despite that, he wasn’t completely sure how Tony would take it. James wasn’t ignorant about the fact that Tony had known for awhile about the Soldiers mission on December 16th, 1991. How the Soldier had calmly bashed Howard Starks skull in and then Strangled his mother to death. The security footage that had been in the VHS with the file had shown the utter blankness, and lack of emotion on the Soldiers face, the lack of care that he was killing Tony’s mother. James knew that if Steve were aware of what he was doing he would be horrified; the blond hadn’t even liked killing the enemy in war; most of them, he had told Bucky, were just young men who had no clue what they had been drafted or signed up for, what they were fighting for. They were following orders.

 

James knew that Tony must have seen the footage; a man like Tony Stark made sure he was aware of every aspect of what he was entering, and this was no different. Though, Bucky did admit with a bit of guilt at the thought. That it was kind of a funny thought, Tony trying to find, and figure out how to use an outdated VHS machine.

 

So James was scared of Tony’s reaction, and he could feel every muscle in his body tense as he waited for Tony’s reply.

“I was mad, at first,” Tony started, his voice carefully controlled, and he could tell Natasha was letting them have this moment, even though she was ready to intervein if needed.

 

“When I first read the file, when I saw the date…” Tony let out a breath, his face twisting, jaw tight. “I was pretty pissed; I’m not gonna lie, James.” Tony glanced at James from the corner of his eyes, and James stiffly nodded.

 

“Yeah, I can imagine,” James mumbled, and Tony snorted.

 

“No, you really can’t. I mean, yeah, you don’t have your parents anymore; but they died naturally, had long happy lives, your Ma lived to be ninety-eight and died in her sleep,”

 

James hissed in a breath; he knew Tony wasn’t trying to hurt him intentionally, but his words stung, the reminder that his whole family was dead, and he never got to say goodbye, while they all thought he died and his frozen corpse lied in the bottom of a ravine in the Alps- yeah, the reminder hurt. A lot.

 

“My mom, she was everything to me, James,” Tony told him, “She was my only parent, to be honest, because fuck if Howard did shit to raise me other then spit on whatever achievements I made and told them I could do better,” suddenly, Tony laughed, a harsh, bitter sound, making James flinch, and Natasha lean back. “You know what the funny thing is?” He smirked with no humor, “Howard always compared me to Steve Rogers; “ _Why can’t you be more like Captain America, Anthony?_ ” “ _Captain America was twice the man you were, brat._ ” He always said things like that, and in the end, Steve Rogers turned out to-” Tony hissed through his teeth.

 

“I was mad, so fucking pissed when I watched that footage, James.” Tony was calm again, but James could tell it was a controlled calm.

 

“I wanted to fly out of there as fast as I could and rip the Soldier limb from limb, wanted to strangle him just like just like he strangled my mom,” Tony sighed, tension suddenly leaving him, and James cautiously watched him unclench his fingers. “But do you know what made me pause?” James shook his head.

 

“You, James.”

 

James jerked back, eyes wide, “Me? What did I do?”

 

“You fell into my bed,” Tony smirked, though it wasn’t his usual one.

 

“You fell into my bed, you became my friend, and you told me stories of your friend Steve Rogers instead of Captain America. You told me about the kid from Brooklyn that couldn’t stand the little guy getting his ass kicked and stood up for everyone even if he could have gotten himself killed. You told me about the short little guy that had a heart of gold that threw up the first time he killed someone and cried right after in your arms,” Tony twisted his mouth.

 

“-and I read through the file, saw all the torture and conditioning and brainwashing and thought to myself; what if this happened to Rhodey? What if some sick bastard did this to my best friend? I thought about it, and I realized, that I couldn’t blame him, because it wasn’t him, and hell, it probably wasn’t even the Soldiers fault; he didn’t know anything else, and he would have the shit beat out of him whenever he questioned, in the beginning. I will never forget, James,” Tony told him, Voice soft, “But I can forgive him for something that wasn’t his fault in the first place. I've had time to think, to be angry at him.”

 

Tony scowled.

 

“Now I’m just angry at the Russians,” He said, “They hurt somebody that you cared about, and Steve Rogers, Best friend, or a complete stranger; what they did to that man was horrible. He deserves to get help, and to get better.”

 

Tony finished talking, and James looked at him, eyes wide and wet.

 

“Thank you, Tony,” James whispered, and Tony just nodded.

 

The ride was quieter from then on, but the silence was comfortable.

 

* * *

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I know this is going slowly, but I promise it will pick up soon-ish. I'm just having a bad go of it right now with this fic, and it's been a tough week so far, but here's a chapter after four days of nothing, with a bit of fluff and lightheartedness, and a bit of angst at the end, for flavor and because- well. It's me guys; what do you expect? sunshine and rainbows?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They had run into a snag when they had got to the hotel, and the only room available had two double beds and no couch. Natasha had given them a look and they both knew that she would _not_ be sharing with them. Not that James would even ask; his ma raised him better than that. Tony and he already acknowledged that there was _something_ between them, so it wouldn’t be _too_ awkward and uncomfortable. The only thing James was worried about was accidentally cuddling Tony in the middle of the night; He tended to grab on to whoever or whatever was in the bed next to him. If it was a queen, it would have been better, but a double bed was like asking for James to use Tony like a giant teddy bear.

 

James took the key from the older lady at the desk, giving her a warm smile that the hard-faced woman returned, and turned to Nat and Tony.

 

“Well, this should be fun,” James chirped, trying to sound cheerful, and Natasha just shot him a knowing look, and smirked, while Tony bit his lip and looked like he was trying to hide a smile.

 

“Let’s get set up, then go get some food,” Tony suggested, after a few moments of just standing in the lobby while the Old lady looked at them with a raised eyebrow, her expression practically screaming, _“Damn tourists”_.

 

They walked toward the room, which wasn’t far from the lobby, and James stuck the key in the door, grimacing at the sticky feel of the handle. The key stuck a little until he jiggled it a bit, and the door swung open, revealing a room with so much life, it could be mistaken for a graveyard- that is to say, not much at all. The only lively (if you could call it that) thing in the room was the bed quilts, which had the most hideous floral pattern James had seen in his entire life; and he was counting his and Steve’s neighbor from down the hall before the war- the one with five cats and that gross floral couch that smelled like piss and dust.   

 

 

“This is…Cozy,” James grit out, and Tony snorted, pushing past him, looking at the room with horror.

 

“This is horrified, James, Oh my god. I swear If I catch something from this place-”

 

“Then we will send you home with express shipping, Antoshka,” Natasha said, sweetly, and Tony snapped his mouth shut, pouting.

 

“Mean, Tasha,” Tony whined, and Natasha just smirked.

 

“Let’s just put our bags down, and go, ok?” James sighed, giving up on trying to make the Motel room appealing.

James knew he was being a bit selfish, really. This motel wasn’t really that bad, compared to th places he had lived and slept in before and during the war. This place would have been a godsend back when he and Stevie were trying to make ends meet, with working heating and thick blankets, no draft running through the air, leaving a constant chill behind- yeah. This place was great. James had to admit since he came to the future, he had been a bit spoiled, living with Tony and getting the best of everything. He felt a bit guilty that he hadn’t even noticed how the luxury had been changing his outlook on things and promised himself he wouldn’t take things like this place for granted, anymore. James was raised better than that.

 

“Yeah, any idea where we’re gonna eat?” Tony asked, taking one last grimacing look at the room before James closed the door, the lock clicking automatically behind them.

 

“I saw a place about ten minutes back down the road,” James nodded, and Natasha shrugged,

 

“Let’s go then, and if I get food poisoning, I’m stabbing you with a toothpick,” James just smirked at that while Tony rolled his eyes at them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Omugerd, ‘fis ‘s ‘ood ‘fhit,” Tony moaned through a full mouth, making Natasha wrinkle her nose and James to chuckle fondly.

“Stark, you are disgusting,” The redhead scoffed, taking a delicate bite of her goat burger.

 

“Well, it _is_ good food,” James defended Tony, tearing into another lamb kabob. He had gotten three orders since his super-soldier serum made it a little harder for normal portions to satisfy him.

 

“Then he should marry it, before having sex with it,” Natasha teased, making James snort.

 

“Good point, Tasha.”

 

“I hate you both,” Tony mock glared at them, and they both shot him looks of disbelief.

 

“You love us, Stark,” The said in synchronicity, and Tony smirked.

 

“I will admit to no such thing,” the brown-eyed inventor huffed, trying to hide his smile.

 

“So, should we leave first thing in the morning for the Hostel?” Natasha said after a few minutes of chewing and silence, and James stiffened. How easy it was to forget… he kept doing that; forgetting what they were here for. He was trying to suppress it subconsciously, he guessed. He should probably have a phone session with Sarah. She would be interested to talk about the impact recent revelation had had on him; and to be honest, he had to admit, he needed to talk to a non-biased party about what was going on right now. Now that he could actually tell Sarah the full story after he discovered she was a secret SHIELD therapist. that stung for about a week before Sarah phoned and left a message apologizing for her deceit and that she would recommend him to a few non-affiliated colleagues of hers. Then he felt like shit, moped for another day, and got his shit together. Sessions were much better now that he didn’t have to constantly think and change what he was saying to make it seem normal.

 

“Yeah, probably around 8? Check-out is at 10, so if we sleep in by accident, we have some wiggle-room,” James murmured, even though he knew that they knew about that already. He was just…tired. He hadn’t been on this trip for a week and he was already emotionally drained.

 

He wondered, not for the first time if he really should just let Steve come to him. Then he remembered that if it was him in this situation, Steve would never stop looking for him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A WILD STEEB APPEARS

 

* * *

 

 

James knew it was common knowledge that Steve Rogers was sickly and ill most of his life before he got jacked up on super juice, becoming the peak of human perfection, and beyond. Steve Rogers had an illness list the length of an average room, with a few inched bunched up on the wall.

 

What wasn’t common knowledge, was half the time, Steve was so ill that his ma would bring in a priest to give him his last rights, more often than not. Steve had been given his last rights so often, that if James were a religious person, then he would swear to touch Steve would turn him holy. Steve would lay in his rickety bed with the thin sheets, sweaty and ill and so goddamn sick, looking minutes away from death. The Priest would give him his last rights, rosary, and holy prayers, while Steve wheezed and tried to breathe through lungs than didn’t cooperate and a ticker that wouldn’t beat right.

 

Bucky would sit beside his bed, heedless of Sarah Rogers and here warnings that he might catch what Steve had; he hadn’t yet, and even if he did, he would handle it better than little Stevie anyways- and if Steve went…then Bucky would follow soon after. It was the way they did things since they met when dragging Steve with a bleeding nose out of that ally from that fight when they were seven and eight. Wherever Steve went, Bucky Barnes followed him.  That was always the way, and it was like that till the goddamn train fucked things up.

 

Sitting in the car, while they drove away from that Hostel, on their way to France, Paris specifically, Bucky remembered those times; and he wondered if God was real and would let all those last rights that Stevie got as an ill kid and young man absolve what wasn’t his fault, what HYDRA made him do. If James was a praying man, he might have prayed for it-instead, James hoped. He hoped that when they found Stevie, that he could be saved.

 

“Hey, Sir broods-a-lot,” Tony’s voice snapped him out of his…contemplation (not brooding Tony, fuck you very much).

 

“What, Stark?” James snapped, and Tony winced, looking away, and James felt guilt shoot through him.

 

“Sorry, Tony, I was just-”

 

“Remembering?” Tony offered, and James nodded, confused.

 

“How?” Tony huffed a chuckle, shaking his head.

 

“I know that look. I wear it a lot,” Tony sighed, biting his lip.

 

“Look, James,” the genius started, and James stiffened slightly at the cautious tone. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

 

“Do what?” James asked, trying for nonchalant and failing spectacularly, going by Natasha’s equally badly concealed snort from where she was ‘asleep’ in the back seat. They ignored it.

 

“Don’t think about the past and ‘what if.’ ‘what if’ won’t bring you anything but pain and even more guilt than you already have heaved on your ridiculously strong shoulders. Trust me, of all people, I know.” James bit his lip, wanting to deny it, but despite him not exactly thinking of ‘what if’s’ before Tony snapped him out of his thoughts, he was getting there. He would have gone there if Tony hadn’t spoken.

 

“Barnes…” James scowled, shooting Tony a glare that coul melt Steve’s damn shield. Tony hesitated, then pushed on, despite James’ warning glare. “look, I can get you wanting to get rid of ‘Bucky’; that’s not you, I get that,”

 

“ _’Bucky_ ’-” James spat, eyes spitting flames,  “-was a wide-eyed, innocent kid that knew shit about war, and even less about the world. ‘Bucky’ was Steve Rogers best friend that kept him alive and safe and outta’ trouble, an’ he died the first time Zola cut into him on that metal slab in Azzano, and whatever was left died when he fell off that train.”

 

Tony stayed silent for a bit, while James took a bit to calm down.

 

“But you’re still a Barnes, James,” Natasha said from the back, her voice firm, and James looked back, meaning to snap at her when she sent him a glare that made his mouth shut with a loud click.

 

“You were born a Barnes, James. You were made a Bucky,” She said, looking at him fiercely. “You need to hold onto whatever part you have left of your family, even a name, because it’s all you have left, and nobody can take that from you, you don’t let them,” the redhead grit her teeth, “you keep what little is left from your past and you hold onto it with an iron grip, or you begin to lose yourself, you lose what meaning you have left, and you forget who and what you’re fighting for.”

 

James swallowed, before looking into Natasha’s green eyes.

 

“What’s _your_ last name?”

 

“I don’t remember anymore,” she said, looking at him with agony in her eyes.

 

They looked at each other for awhile, before James lowered his eyes and nodded.

 

“Sorry, Tony,” James said, looking at the older man with soft eyes.

 

Tony shrugged and smiled at him, brown eyes sparkling, and James knew that he was forgiven for snapping at him.

 

“I get it, Jamie,” Tony said, shrugging, eyes back on the road. “But I think you should take your old name back. James William-Scott Barnes stilled has a nice right to it,” Tony teased, and James chuckled.

 

“Yeah,” the sniper agreed, “I kinda like it, Tones.”

 

“I’ll have the papers sent to my safety deposit box in Paris,” Tony said, and beeping from his phone made James take it out of his pocket and look at the screen, only to see a text from JARVIS on it.

 

_The papers are being sent post-haste, Mr. Barnes._

 

Damn, but even in text, Jarv sounded smug.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Asset hunched his broad shoulders as he traveled through the market, his long blond hair braided out of his face and poking out of his baseball cap, his newly grown beard covering his face and hiding it in shadow; just another figure walking in the market, another face, another body.

The Asset stopped at a stand the held banana’s and tried one. He did not spit it out at first taste, but it was a close thing.

 

Observation: This was not a banana.

Query: why did it look like a banana?

Action: ask.

 

He asked. The stall owner shrugged and said it was a banana.  

 

Emotion: confused.

 

Query: why did the Stall owner lie?

 

Additional Query: Was it the Asset that was wrong?

 

He moved on.

 

He would try plums. They seemed safe.

 

* * *

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are closing in!
> 
> AN: this chapter is for Trash, you know who you are (and your boot hurts, when your kicking my ass into writing gear)

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Asset ate plums and the little bit of cheese he had left over from his market trip two weeks ago and downed a bottle of water. The Asset knew that this was not sufficient breakfast food for him to stay in functional capacity; so, he planned another trip to the market.

The man that was at the plum stand was a different man than the one a week before and watched the Asset with what The Asset was sure the man thought was a covert eye. But he was The Asset, nobody could stare at him without him knowing.

“You’re a Vet?” the man asked, his French accent strong. The Asset froze and looked with a wary eye at the man that he no longer dismissed as insignificant.

“…Yes,” The Asset said roughly, in English. His voice was rough and gritty, and it almost hurt his throat, after so long of not speaking.

“You take these plums, no charge, oui?” The man said, handing him a rather large bag of plums, the old man's eyes were kind, and The Asset looked at the man with suspicion; he was not used to people giving him things, anything, without some catch, without pain being involved. The Assets handlers used to make him do things if he wanted food, use his mouth his ass- The Asset never got anything without an ulterior motive.

But the old man just looked at his with eyebrows raised and shook the bag slightly, daring him to not take it. The Asset didn’t think the old man was Red Room- he didn’t look smart or fit enough for their tastes- and there was no reason otherwise for the old man to hurt him with plums. The Asset slowly raised a hand, and like he was handling a bomb, he carefully took the bag from the man with his gloved right hand.

“Thank…you,” The Asset rasped, looking out from under his cap.

“You’re welcome,  _ Jeune Guerrier _ ,” The old man said, “You take care of yourself, oui?”

“Oui,” The Asset nodded, ducking his head and making his way to the cheese stand.

He could not stay in France for much longer. He had developed a pattern here and was noticed; he had to stay hidden.

He would leave for his next destination soon.

But first;  _ cheese _ .

 

* * *

 

“God, French Cheese is  _ amazing _ ,” James moaned, licking his fingers.

The day was sunny and bright, and they had followed a lead to France, specifically Paris, and this marketplace cheese stand, strangely enough. The man at the plum stand said an blond braided haired man had bought plums and walked away muttering about Cheese. He had found it odd that the man had been wearing gloves in the height of summer, and a large coat. He had seemed reluctant to tell them anything, seeming strongly protective of the Soldier, and they had to convince him that they just wanted to help the blond, not hurt him.

The man had pointed them towards the cheese stand with watchful eyes, giving them each a bag of plums, despite their protests.

“Goes nice with cheese,” was what he said.

They had ended up chatting with the cheese lady, who had been more than happy to tell them of the nice young man who had bought half her stock in cheese and overpaid her despite her protests.

James had felt stirrings of hope when he heard the ladies story; that sounded like something Steve would do, not The Winter Soldier.

Steve would have done something like that even if he didn’t have the money and had to go in dept, if he saw someone who needed it.

 

He had taken Tony and Natasha aside, and had taken the cheese the lady had given them with him, putting it in the snack bag in his pack for later. 

 

“So, it’s a good thing we followed that lead that Fury gave us instead of going to that hostal,” Natasha murmured, taking a bite of cheese that James recognized came from the bad the lady had given them. James didn’t even try to guess at how she had taken it without his notice. 

 

“Yeah, looks like the Soldier passed through here and left as soon as he could,” Tony agreed. 

 

“It’s what Steve would’a done,” James sighed, and Natasha shot him a sharp look, Tony raising an eyebrow at him. 

 

“James,” Natasha said slowly, warningly, and James gritted his teeth. “James, you can’t mistake Yasha buying that much cheese as him becoming Steve again. Remember that he eats more than a normal man,” She pointed out, and James stubbornly shook his head. 

 

“Then why didn’t he buy stuff other than cheese? He coulda’ bought meat, dried fruit, he could’a bought damn to go meals, for fuck’s sake,” James hissed, and Natasha narrowed her eyes, making James soften his voice. “Buying out a poor woman’s stock a’ food jus’ so she could afford to feed her family is somethin’ that damn punk’ woulda’ done if we had the money back then, not The Winter Soldier.”

 

Tony, who had been silent, suddenly spoke. 

 

“I agree with James, Tasha’,” Tony grimace, “Tactically speaking, even I know somebody as well trained as the Winter Soldier would buy more than just cheese if he was only buying for food. It’s not a move that’s something the tactacle mind of any trained assassin would make.”

 

Sitting back in her seat, Natasha sighed. 

 

“I just don’t want to get your hopes up, James,” Natasha put a hand on his, squeezing gently, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“I know Natasha,” James said softly. “Thank you. But I know Stevie, and that was such a Steve Rogers thing to do, he might has well have told the lady his name.”

 

Natasha nodded, and then Tony clapped his hands. 

 

“So,” the billionaire said, false cheerfully, “Where to next?”

 

Natasha’s phone vibrated, and she checked it, smirking.

 

Looking up at them, she smiled.

 

“Bucharest, Romania.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Are you 18+ and Want to join in a group dedicated to Bucky Appreciation? Join my Server on Discord, here: 
> 
> https://discord.gg/h2zTtzT
> 
> Hope to see you soon!


End file.
